Spread
by Staralfur
Summary: There is no such thing as immortality. Previously The Fine Art of Falling Apart
1. Loki

Disclaimer: Don't own, just play.

The rain wasn't falling very hard.

But, then again, it never really had to fall hard to prove its point.

Those tiny drops of water, pinging on the windows of his house, made everything more difficult than it should have been. He had tried reading to ease his troubled mind, but that proved impossible. He hardly managed through four pages. Then he tried just thinking. As it turned out, that was even worse. The rain, no matter how gentle it was this night, brought back memories he'd locked away years ago. Memories that always managed to sneak back out whenever it rained.

He gently pushed the cotton duvet back and hooked his legs over the side of his mattress. Taking the wire-rimmed glasses and sitting them down on a nightstand with one hand, he rubbed wearily at his eyes.

It was going to be a long night.

Sighing, he ran a hand through his white locks as he stood up and started walking across the wooden flooring to the door. He flicked a switch and turned out the light, heading steadily downstairs.

Each step on the old wooden staircase should have been creaking, but he'd had years of practice and each step was, consequently, absolutely silent. He took those silent steps into a small kitchen, where he opened his refrigerator and grabbed a carton of milk. Taking large gulps, he climbed back up the stairs and back into his room.

He walked to his closet and grabbed a pair of tattered, stonewashed jeans that had holes in the left knee, right thigh, and the back right pocket. He threw them on over his black boxers and grabbed a loose-fitting VAST t-shirt, slipping a worn black leather jacket on over top. Bending down, he stepped into a pair of dark Diesel sneakers and laced them up quickly, heading back downstairs.

Keys were snatched up from an oak desk and a door was shut quietly, but swiftly and then locked tightly. The man started walking down the cracked sidewalk. His feet splashing in the occasional puddle was the only noise for a few blocks. But then a raven cawed loudly, stopping the man for a moment as he looked over at the large black bird.

There was a large statue of a sadistic looking demon in the middle of a square. Old buildings were surrounding the grassy area that contained the statue that was rivaled only by a few ancient trees. The raven was perched idly on the demon's right shoulder, looking back at him with eager eyes. He stared for a moment longer and took that time to examine the odd bird. Curiosity overtook him as he saw a red marking on its throat. So the man looked harder and saw that it was a blood red "X." Just an instant later the bird stretched out its wings menacingly and cawed even louder than before, snapping him out of his reverie.

But his curiosity was not so easily extinguished.

The white-haired man blinked once in confusion and then twice in sheer shock as he glanced over at the statue. It was a perfect replica of a demon who, two-thousand years ago, turned his back on the Underworld and fought for the salvation of the human race. A perfect replica of his father.

Caught in a daze, he walked forward onto the squishy grass, moving closer and closer until he was only a few feet away from the statue. He reached out a hand and meant to touch it, just to see if it really was a statue or if it were a mirage to his eyes. He didn't get very far, though.

The raven flew off of its perch on the demon's shoulder as soon as the man's hand came within centimeters of the stone. It cawed loudly and urgently, flying to him. Instinctively, the man raised his arms to cover his face, but the bird slashed a large wound across the back of his hand anyway. The blood from the abrasion perfectly matched the red on the bird's chest. For just a moment, before the man could look, it shone silvery, as did the "X" on the bird.

Blue eyes gazed wonderingly but crossly at the bird, who only flew back to its perch. Finally taking the hint, the man raised his hands in defeat, smiling slightly. "Alright, alright, I'm going." He walked on, never looking back at the bird again.

But the raven kept looking at him.

Beneath the bird, where the back of the demon should have been, was the figure of a man, facing in the opposite direction. His face wore a decidedly wicked grin and his eyes were narrowed as if in the hunt. But he was, of course. The stone eyes shifted left, trying to follow the white-haired man but he couldn't be seen. So a long, thin leg stretched out and the man sighed as he stepped from the statue.

"Damn bird," he whispered aloud as he cracked his stiff neck, "always trying to interfere."

He turned to follow the white-haired man, but stopped immediately. Looking at the ground, he saw a still-burning cigarette tossed neatly before his feet. Leering, he tilted his head up to where the raven flew and his slate eyes unconsciously narrowed. Her left foot was resting on the ledge of the building, her left elbow placed lightly upon her knee. A lengthy coat was blowing out behind her as she watched the royally dressed man.

The man looked more interestedly to see the same raven perched on her shoulder, looking at him in cold irritation. He turned his head to look down the street to see if the other man had passed out of sight, but all he could see was bitter fog. When he looked up to catch a proper glimpse of the woman, she had slipped off into the wet night.

Dante continued walking on, gliding under the orange glow of a few streetlamps as he made his way to Cornwall's. He was walking silently with his hands in his pockets, his warm breath crystallizing in front of his face, when his right foot splashed loudly in a puddle. It was then that he heard footsteps overhead and looked up.

He turned too slowly.

There was nothing there.

Curiosity fired up, he started walking again, but stopped at seeing a soft blaze at his feet. He bent down and looked at it. It was a Dunhill cigarette. The kind he used to smoke. Now his curiosity was raging ferociously. But he continued on his walk to Cornwall's anyway.

When he finally arrived, he opened the large, wooden door to hear his name being happily called out by the bartender. "Thom," he said as he passed by an entry into another room, never seeing the woman who was glancing at him out of the corner of her eye.

He sat down at the bar and rested his forearms on the wood. "I was wonderin' when you'd get here," said the bartender in his heavy English accent. "You want the regular?"

Dante yawned gently. "As always."

Thom walked over to the taps, just as a woman sat herself a seat away from Dante. He found himself mesmerized as he looked her over. Her straight, brown hair fell inches below her shoulders; she was wearing a simple, but distracting black dress and a pair of short black boots.

Dante's whiskey was placed in front of him as Thom looked at the woman. "Ah, you back again?"

"Of course, 'nother round please, Thom." She replied in her own, soft British accent.

Thom left again and that's when Dante noticed the cigarette in her right hand. It was a Dunhill. He stared at it for a moment, placing the connection, and was about to ask her about it when the bartender came back with three glasses.

"I can't believe you're still back there."

"Oh Thom, we'll probably be here until business decides to bore us again."

"I imagine that could be a while."

"With business like this, yes, it could be a very long while." Her green eyes were apologetic. "Hope you don't mind."

"I don't mind at all."

She nodded her thanks to Thom as she picked up the three glasses and went back into the room Dante had passed on his way in. He turned around and watched her as she gave a glass to a dark-haired man, and another to a blonde woman. Thom smiled and rested his elbows on the bar as he saw what caught Dante's attention.

"She's quite a catch. That is, course, if you manage to catch her."

Dante smiled and looked up. "Who is she?"

"Her name's Elise, I think I heard someone say Elise Greenwood once, but I'm not quite sure. Though, I'm surprised you've not seen her before."

"What do you mean?" Dante asked as he switched his glance back to Elise.

"She's here practically every time you are."

"I guess I never noticed her before."

Thom smiled and patted him on the shoulder. "And I see that now you do."

"Tonight… it's kinda hard not to."

Dante kept watching her as she played a game of billiards with her two friends, his eyes widening as she bent over to take a shot. Her dress shifted in just the right way, allowing him a perfect view of the tattoo on her left shoulder.

It was a raven.

She tilted her head back at him, feeling his eyes on her and knowing that's exactly what she wanted. Looking at Lily and Kris, she smiled.

"Rabbit take the bait?" Lily asked softly.

"Perfectly," she said as she grabbed her coat. "I'm going to see Marco. Teiwaz is there, isn't he?"

Kris nodded. "So is Ansuz."

"That's even better." Elise walked out of that room and up to the other one. "Cheerio, Thom."

He nodded to her as she left Cornwall's. Dante turned his head and looked at the door, then looked back at Thom, who, smiling, nodded again. He pulled a five out of his wallet, placed it on the bar, shoved the wallet back down in his pocket, and left after the woman.

He followed her for about fifteen minutes, walking through the cold, damp streets of the half-dead city. Dante was being exceptionally quiet, so quiet, in fact, that Elise had to turn around every so often to make sure he was still taking the bait.

Abruptly, she turned a corner and Dante had to jog to make sure he didn't lose her. But when he rounded the corner, he was caught completely off-guard.

It was a part of town he'd never been to.

A part he never knew existed.

He was standing in front of a large, deteriorating monastery that could have been no less then six-hundred years old. It was u-shaped and, between the two extending wings, had a large graveyard with moss-covered, half-broken tombstones. There was a path, separating the graveyard into two sides, that Elise was currently walking down.

Dante slipped into the graveyard and slid from one tombstone to the next, making his way up to the door. Elise officially lost him, but she maintained her steady gait, knowing confidently that he would follow.

Close enough to the door to hear what was said, but far enough away not to be seen, Dante sat against an old tombstone and waited. He heard the swishing of wings and looked up to see that same black raven perched gently on the tombstone, looking directly at him.

He was about to shoo the bird off when he caught a glimpse of the name on the stone. It was Stephen Malcolm and, somehow, that name seemed oddly familiar to him. But he was, again, snapped out of his reverie as the bird cawed loudly.

Dante glared at the bird and peered around the corner of the stone, looking at Elise and seeing another man standing in front of her. He was wearing white robes and looked exactly like a monk. His suspicions were soon enough confirmed.

"Brother Marco," Elise said gently, dipping her head in a small bow.

"My dear, how are you?" He asked kindly.

"Splendid, but… your vow of silence?"

"Ah, I never took one. There is too much I need to say."

She smiled at him and looked over at her raven. "Has Ansuz behaved?"

"Wonderfully and so has Teiwaz," he said as a large dog came striding out of the monastery. He stopped at Elise's feet and she reached down to pet his soft fur.

"I worry, Marco," said Elise as she stood back up again. "My mind is plagued by worry."

"Remember, my child, if you ever need aid, you can always fly here."

Dante looked up, eyebrows lowering in bewilderment, and saw both Teiwaz and Ansuz looking at him. And somehow he just knew those words were spoken for him.


	2. Freya

Disclaimer: Don't own, just play.

Dante lay sprawled out on his king-size bed, his hand wrapped lightly around a black remote. He absently clicked a few buttons and tried to find something that was even remotely interesting. It was four in the morning and the only things he could find were infomercials for nude women on video and dreadful horror movies.

Surprising even himself, Dante let the television idle on a cheaply made, stereotypical horror movie.

Yawning, he pulled off his t-shirt, yanked a blanket up to his waist, and relaxed as best he could into the down pillows. He watched uninterestedly as a cheerleader was gutted and finally fell asleep to the sound of her quarterback boyfriend's scream.

_It was raining again. _

_The only audible sound in the house was the ticking of an ancient grandfather clock and the soft but insistent pat-pat-patter of little raindrops on the tin roof. But there really should have been more noise. Eva was home with the twins, who never managed to fall quiet any time before seven and here it was only five thirty-one. _

_A worry and panic nearly picked up in her heart. But it was alright. The twins probably just had a stimulating day and were currently napping with their mother. Right, that had to be it. But then a faint smell found her nose. It was a smell that was wholly familiar and wholly unwelcome. _

_It was the smell of copper._

_As she raced up the staircase, she started to hear another noise. This one was faint like the smell, but it was consistent. As consistent as a sob of a child no less than eight and no older than ten could be. She ran even harder. Down the hallway, to the left, down further, to the right, into the room. And there it was. The sobbing was there. The smell of blood was there. And so were Eva and Dante. _

_His tiny form was curled up next to her side, with his head upon the shoulder that once used to bring him comfort. He was weeping and completely oblivious to the large pool of blood he was laying in. Catching her breath, she walked over to the boy and touched his shaking shoulder as gently as she could. He didn't move._

"_Dante?" Still no answer. _

_So she waited. She waited patiently next to the broken, blood-soaked boy until his small fists unclenched and his body stopped shaking from sobs. Slowly, he sat up on his knees and turned his head around to look at her with his blood-shot, puffy blue eyes. She could see it there, in those aqua eyes. She could see that he knew death; he'd known it all his life. _

_He was too brave for his own good._

_She returned his gaze with pity and understanding, but also with urgency that not only she could feel, for the boy felt it, too. "I need to get you out of here."_

_Sniffing gently, Dante nodded and held his arms up, letting her carry him out of the building. Still overly-courageous, he never looked back once. The building was leaving, just like his mother and brother and father already had. It was just a memory now. _

_He climbed into the back seat of her car obediently and buckled himself in, just like he'd been taught to do, while she settled into the driver's seat and started the car. Teiwaz, who was laying down on the _

_back seat before he heard them, was now resting with his head on Dante's lap, offering him the comfort only he could manage. _

"_Eli?" Dante asked in a small, hoarse voice._

_She pulled the car out onto the street and started driving. "Yes, sweetie?" _

"_Where are we going?"_

"_I'm taking you to your Aunt Melanie's. Your mother gave her guardianship in case of anything happening." She spoke the last part unwillingly, but he needed to understand._

_Hearing Dante's muffled protest, Teiwaz lifted his black head and gently began licking off the blood on the orphan's hands, face, and arms. Dante smiled faintly and hugged the part-wolf he loved so dearly, and looked up into the rear-view mirror, his arms still wrapped around Teiwaz's neck. When he caught her eye he spoke up._

"_Will Teiwaz be staying with me?"_

"_Of course he will. Dante, Teiwaz will always be there for you, to keep you safe when you feel you aren't."_

_Dante's smile became true. "He's my guardian, isn't he?"_

"_Yes, and he always will be."_

_It was early morning in October when the door opened. Dante was trying to sleep but the day had been too exciting. Eli had given him his birthday present (a brand new bicycle and an agreement to teach him the ropes of demon-hunting when he was older) and then they'd eaten his favorite cake (angel food cake) and then, when he had finished unwrapping his last gift, she gave him another box. _

_Inside of it was a little white stuffed ferret that he immediately named Bartholomew. The moment he held it, he never let it go. _

_So there he was, sleeping with this little ferret wrapped tightly in his arms, when his bedroom door opened. He had always been a sound sleeper, so he never heard it close again and he never heard the person walk slowly across the floor to stand next to his bed. _

_Blankets were pulled down, his pajama top was pulled up, and a cold hand was pressed lightly to his stomach, aptly covering his navel. The hand stayed there, until the boy started to glow faintly. The glow moved from his extremities to his torso and then settled onto his stomach, creating a fanciful pattern around his bellybutton. It sparkled red for a minute then faded to pink, then faded to the color of his flesh. _

_The man smiled his satisfaction to himself, replaced the shirt and the blankets, and then lightly walked out of the room. The door was closed and the boy never once fluttered his eyes. _

_When morning came, Dante awoke bright and refreshed. He bounded out of the room, Bartholomew still in his arms, with a child's glee but immediately stopped as he reached the family room. _

_He stared for a minute, the ferret now being held by one of its paws, and then his blank expression turned to complete delight. "Uncle Stephen!" Cried Dante as he ran forward and jumped into the man's arms. _

"_Ah, you're getting heavy." He said as he lifted the boy up._

_Dante turned to look at him, tugging the ferret close to his chest, and pouted deeply. _

"_Oh, 'te, I didn't mean it like that. I only meant that you're getting stronger; you're full of muscle now." At this, Dante beamed, turning his head to look proudly at his aunt and then at 'Eli.' _

_There was a glint in her eyes, a glint of protective rage that he didn't at first understand. But he did sense that something was troubling her and wriggled his way out of his uncle's arms to go stand in front of her. "Eli, what's wrong?" He asked, his great blue eyes wide with concern. _

"_Oh honey, nothing's wrong. At least nothing that you should be bothering yourself with. It's not important right now."_

"_But Eli," he said, tucking Bartholomew behind his back and looking at his bare feet, "if it's bothering you it has to be important." He finished his sentence with a truthful look at her._

"_It's okay, Dante. I'll figure it out."_

"_I want to help," he said with a child's pride. _

_She smiled warmly at him. "You already are."_

_There was nothing. Just blackness and darkness and a faint wind. But then there was something. It was his Uncle Stephen. _

_He looked the same, but he felt older, noted the hunter. So many days had gone by and still the man looked like he did all those years ago. The thought sent a hot chill down Dante's spine. A chill that settled in his navel._

_It started aching, first softly and then, as Stephen moved closer, more roughly. There was a throbbing in the core of his torso that started spreading like wildfire into other parts of his body. It moved to his right leg, so painfully that he fell to his knee and clutched it. It moved to his wrists, so painfully that he couldn't clutch his leg anymore. And it moved to his groin, so painfully that he cried out in agonizing fury. _

_There was blood, lots of it, and it was starting to cloud his vision. Instinct took over._

_His thought was to run, to out maneuver the pain, and there was a door, but Stephen reached it first. He opened it, walked through it, and when he closed it, it disappeared. Dante was left with nothing. Just blackness and darkness and a faint wind. _

He woke up with a start. It was the first time he'd ever had a dream of memories before and it almost worried him.

But the thing that really **did** worry him was the aching that still lingered in his stomach. Dante pushed down the blankets and saw the cause of it. The mark that had appeared out of nowhere so many years ago was now glowing faintly and pulsing steadily with the beat of his heart.

Without knowing exactly where he was going, Dante dressed impatiently and hurried out of his house. He ran and he ran until he found himself at the base of the path that led to the monastery. It was unconscious, running there, but it had felt right and so he had done it.

So he walked the path until he reached the doors, which opened before he even came within six feet of them. Brother Marco slowly came forward.

"My child, what do you need?"

"Malcolm," Dante sighed. "What happened to him?" He looked up at the monk and saw the barely visible woe there. "I saw the headstone so now I know he's dead, but he doesn't feel dead. I just need to know."

"There are only a few who can answer your question with the truth. I, however, am not one of them. I never really knew Stephen like others from your past did. You should try and find one of them."

Dante sighed again. "Why is everyone speaking in riddles?"

A deep howl lifted him from his thoughts. Brother Marco, at hearing the sound, smiled and walked back inside the monastery. Dante turned around and there, at the edge of the pathway, was Teiwaz. He sat still, proud as ever, and waited until Dante walked down to meet him. "Well, that was easy." He said as he knelt down next to the part-wolf. "So Teiwaz, where do I go now?"


	3. Urd

Disclaimer: Don't own, just play.

"That woman you always talk about, the one you said raised you," Thom started gently, as he dried a glass, "…do you remember her at all?"

"Not really. I mean, I saw her every day of my life for ten years and I don't remember a thing. I don't understand why I can't remember." Dante replied, hunched over the bar and nursing a bottle of Sam Adams.

"D'you happen to remember her name?"

Dante laughed and rubbed his right eye. "All I remember calling her was Aunt Eli. That's it."

Thom's eyes slid over to his familiar companion at hearing that name, twinkling in the dim lit of the pub, but dancing away from the icy blue ones as they looked up to meet his. "And this dog you spoke of, the one you found this morning, where is he?" The question crushed Dante's impending curiosity just like Thom had hoped.

"Sitting right outside. He listens to every word I say, never once seemed to think about disobeying me."

"But you remember 'im, yes?"

"More than I can remember anything else from that time of my life."

"What's his name?"

Dante smiled and took another swig. "Teiwaz."

"You're sure?"

"Yes Thom, that's the only thing I'm sure of anymore." But then his gaze turned thoughtful and reminiscent. "He was there when everything happened. He sat beside me when my aunt drove me away from that mess. Stayed with me every night I asked him to after that."

He looked up at the bartender with a serious expression. "Did you know Stephen Malcolm?"

Thom shifted his eyes to the ceiling as he leaned back against the wall with a sigh. "Can't say I did. Might've, not sure though… why?"

"When I went to the monastery this morning I saw a gravestone with his name on it. That monk there said he… well, I guess that's the problem. The monk didn't say much of anything. He wouldn't even just tell me if Stephen was dead or not. All he said was to talk to someone else from my past and then that's when Teiwaz appeared." Dante rested his chin on his right hand, absently twirling his forefinger around the mouth of the bottle. "Dogs can't talk."

"Well mate, maybe that ol' monk wasn't tellin' you to talk to a dog. Maybe 'e wants you to talk to someone else."

"I don't remember anyone else except Teiwaz. It's like that entire ten years has been erased from my mind, except for that dog."

"In that case," Thom started as he dried his last glass and threw the towel back over his shoulder, "maybe you should try talkin' to that dog. You migh' be surprised."

"Well, I suppose it's not quite the most ridiculous thing I could do." He stood, starting to fish out his wallet, but stopped as Thom's arm reached out.

"Don' bother, you needed it. Now go on. No tellin' how long that dog'll stay out there."

"Thanks," Dante spoke with a bit of disbelief. He turned to leave but stopped as he neared the large doors.

The same woman he'd seen at Cornwall's the night before was outside, kneeling next to Teiwaz. He gestured to Thom as he watched Teiwaz happily licking her face and nuzzling her cheek. When there was no response, he unknowingly whispered the bartender's name and gestured again. But the woman stood and started walking towards the door, reaching out to open it, and Dante slipped back into the seat he'd been occupying at the bar.

He looked up at Thom with urgent, questioning eyes. Opening his mouth to speak, he quickly stopped as he heard her soft accent again. "Thom, do me a favor and turn the news on."

"Course, love." He reached up to the wall-mounted television, pressed a few buttons, and the screen was filled with the live feed of a burning forest. His eyes narrowed as he pointed, turning around to look at her. "That's…"

"Yes, the forest by the monastery, but I was just there and there was nothing."

"Did you see anyone?" Thom asked, completely forgetting about Dante who was now narrowing his own eyes at the screen.

"I don't think so. In fact, the only people I've seen all morning are the two of you. The town seems dead today."

"Or maybe just afraid." Dante said without looking away from the screen.

"Afraid of what? Nothing bad's ever happened here." She replied with disbelief lacing her words.

"Well, maybe the bad is just starting." He turned his head to look at her. "Isn't it?"

"There's a first time for everything… you may be right." Elise looked at the bartender, her green eyes shadowed in something akin to disappointment. "Thom, I'm going to have a look. Let me know if you hear anything?"

"Absolutely, love. You'll be the first to know."

"Thanks." Without another word or look she was gone.

Dante turned to watch the door close with a soft click and, upon seeing the sidewalk outside the pub, scoffed heavily. "Thom?" He asked with a heavy voice.

"Same thing?"

"Yeah." The bottle didn't even get to clack against the bar before it was in Dante's hand and half emptied.

Thom raised an eyebrow in amusement as he watched Dante drain the bottle. "What's gotten into you?" He asked as he retrieved another.

This one had a long enough chance to hover as Dante spoke, "Teiwaz's gone," before it, too, was drained.

Another two bottles and fifteen minutes later, Dante was standing at an intersection, fishing through his coat pockets. "Fuck me," he said as he finished after finding nothing, "shouldn't have quit." He started walking to the nearest gas station a few blocks down the street in hopes of finding a pack of Dunhill cigarettes, but there was an oddly familiar squawk from across the street that stopped all of his thoughts.

He squinted, looking at a sign across the street and saw that same black raven he'd seen the night before. It was look directly at him like it was actually trying to get his attention again. "What do you want this time?" Dante asked with a skeptic sigh, even as he began to walk across the street.

As he walked, he kept repeating under his breath 'it's just curiosity,' hoping to actually convince a small part of himself that that was actually what it was, and not anything more important.

But as he reached that street and the raven flew off to a tree farther down the road, he stopped repeating the words in his head. It wasn't about curiosity anymore and he knew it. So he kept going unconsciously, his feet moving as if of their own will.

For an unmeasured amount of time, he kept walking after this bird, never thinking twice about it. He didn't look down any streets or alleys. Didn't glance at any stores or houses. Didn't once seem to acknowledge the fact that he was walking, until his brain registered where the bird had taken him and stopped his feet from moving.

He was standing at the monastery.

Again.

He shook his head with a frustrated sigh. The bird was watching him doubt from a tree near the back of the building and, as he started to angrily turn around and head back to his home, the bird flew to the ground in front of him.

It cawed loudly, spreading its wings out to their full span. When he started to walk around, it flew up to his face, as it had the night before. But this time he gave in immediately, spinning around and walking to the back of the building, where the bird had been.

Dante reached the corner of the building slowly, not glancing up as the bird flew by his head and around the back. As he walked around the corner, he looked all around for the raven but couldn't find it anywhere. But in his peripheral vision he saw a puff of grey and quickly turned to the forest on the other side of the monastery. There was smoke in the air from the fire that was on the news. It was thinning though, as if it had been just a small, quick fire. He had begun to wonder if Elise was over there, but another caw from the raven shook his thoughts from his head and he turned to face the bird.

It was standing on what appeared to be an old cellar door that was covered in weeds and ivy. The raven was flapping its wings, as if desperately, so he started walking quickly to where it stood. It was cawing loudly now, but as he neared the old doors he heard something slice through the air and, frightened, the bird took off.

All that was left was a few black feathers.

And a golden dagger.

On guard, Dante turned around to see a golden figure emerging from the line of trees behind the building. It was carrying a golden shield and sword, and wearing what looked to be golden armor. The trees were far in front of him, but the figure was moving faster than he expected and was mere feet away by the time he fully realized what he was facing.

It swung without warning and Dante ducked just in time to miss the swipe. Another swing and he jumped. A kick blocked by a shield. Then a stab and a roll. And another roll as the shield swung toward him. The blade was moving again and this time it hit him, the broad side landing flat against his back. The demon kicked his chest as he stumbled forward and again swung, slicing clean through his shirt and skin. He staggered backwards, lost his balance, and fell to the ground.

Dante prepared to stand up, but stopped as he saw that the demon had sheathed its sword and was now just standing in front of him. He looked up to its helmed face and watched in shock as it merely bowed to him, before exploding in tiny golden dust particles that blew gently aside in the light wind.

He blinked a few times before he stood up and reached for his stomach. Pulling up his shirt, he looked in confused shock as he saw no wound where the blade had collided with his skin. There was nothing at all, except for an intricate design around his navel that was burning with a fierce red glow and a cold, dull ache.

He let his shirt back down with a slowly uttered "what the fuck?" and began to slowly lurch his way around the monastery. As he walked farther, the edges of his vision began to darken. With every step he took, the edges closed in a little bit farther until, right before he reached the corner of the monastery, the last tiny circle of sight he had turned dark.

Back at Cornwall's, Thom was standing behind the counter, television long forgotten. His eyes were cast down toward the floor in pity and fear.

"He's grown so well, hasn't he? I'm quite proud of him." Asked a dark man as he came forward out of the stone wall next to the bartender. He walked around the bar, sitting down at the same spot Dante had earlier. Reaching into his pocket, he pulled out a tiny drawstring bag and emptied its contents onto the bar. A few tiny particles of gold dust lingered in the air for a moment before settling back down onto the bar with the others. The man smiled a loving smile as he fingered an intricate design into the dust.

Thom clenched his eyes shut as tightly as he could.


	4. Verdandi

Disclaimer: Don't own, just play.

The sun was shining too brightly, forcing itself through the dark curtains to stroke across his body in an all too early caress. He groaned and rolled over onto his left side to turn his back to the early morning. Closing his eyes more tightly against the light upon the far wall did nothing; he could still see it faintly on his eyelids. He groaned again and sat up quickly, throwing his pillow in a fit of stolen sleep, but it did nothing to alleviate his anger. In fact, all it did was cause a dizziness he'd never experienced in his life. Like he'd drank a whole handle by himself, which, mind, he never quite did but for very rare occasions.

Stilling himself for a moment on his bed, Dante closed his eyes again to gather himself. It was something unusual, but he brushed it off as nothing more than a long night and too little sleep. But when he thought about the night before, he couldn't remember anything after he had left the pub. He continued trying to remember as he slowly and unsteadily walked toward the bathroom and the promise of a hot shower. Dante couldn't help but notice that his limbs felt heavy and tired and that his whole body ached, as if he'd been worked to the very edge of his ability. As he showered he desperately searched his mind for anything of the night before, but, still, there was nothing. No reason that he'd been sleeping naked (as he'd stopped doing that after an embarrassingly timed encounter with a demon who had consequently lost its head for the sheer bad luck of attacking him in that state), no reason that he would feel so worn, used, and heavy. He was a half-demon for God's sake, fights took nothing out of him.

Pushing the confusion aside, Dante left his shower, quickly toweled himself off, threw on another pair of old, torn jeans and an old shirt, and slipped on his boots, not even bothering with the laces. He figured that Thom usually had all the answers he needed and, since he practically spent his entire existence in the pub, he'd probably find some. He slowly took the stairs down, noting a particular ache at the very tops of his thighs, and grabbed his coat. Slipping it on took longer than usual though, as his arms felt entirely too sore for a half-demon in his prime, but he filed that away too and headed off to the pub.

Typically the trip would only take him five minutes at the slowest, but this morning he was finding it hard to walk, having to concentrate on his steps as if his feet would go somewhere but the pub if he didn't take the time to tell them where they were going. The earlier dizziness was coming back and he found himself having to grab a hold of the nearest building to steady himself before an improper collapse upon the sidewalk. The confusion in his mind was becoming even more apparent and even more unstoppable as he continued his trip to the pub.

After a good ten minutes of on and off walking, Dante found himself at the familiar double doors that led to the familiar pub with its familiar owner, who, busy with another regular, didn't take notice to Dante's obvious discomfort. So Dante slowly and carefully sat down at his regular stool, noting another ache as he did so.

The other man (he might have been John, but Dante couldn't remember) summed up his conversation with the bartender quickly at seeing the half-demon enter and left just as quickly, sparing one fleeting glance at him before leaving. Thom turned to the new company, took a moment to look him over, and gave a low chuckle. "See you 'ad yourself quite a night there, didn't you Dante?"

His eyes must have clearly conveyed his confusion, because the bartender looked at him worriedly for a moment before responding. "On your neck there. 'ere, use this," he said as he handed Dante a mirrored tray.

Dante took it with clumsy hands, holding it up and angling it to see his neck. His hand was shaking, but he could make out a dark red mark on the right side of his neck, just above his collarbone. He reached up with his left hand to touch it, but winced upon doing so. Dropping the tray, Dante stared blankly at Thom's apron. It shouldn't have ached. It shouldn't even have been there.

"Thom, I wasn't with anyone last night. You know I stopped that a long time ago. I don't know how it got there."

The bartender's eyes flashed over quickly with something that looked like regret, but it was gone before Dante had the chance to fully identify it. "Look, maybe it's just a bug bite or something, ya know? I mean, you don't exactly live in the best part of town. Maybe a spider or a mosquito or..." He turned away, snatching a dry glass and distractedly trying to dry it again.

"Ev'rything's a mess. This 'ole town is a mess right now and it's draggin' us all down with it." He added in a whisper, "'specially you," but Dante barely took notice.

"I wish I knew what was going on here. I mean, I can't even remember what happened after I left here last night and then I wake up and my whole body aches and I'm dizzy as all hell. I have fucking demon blood, Thom. I don't get aches and I don't get dizzy. What the fuck is going on?" His voice lacked any real fury though, covered only in frustration and something close to desperation.

"I wish I could tell you Dante, but I can't. I just can't." Thom's eyes had started to gloss over, but he was spared any questioning as the doors were thrown open.

The same woman who had been there the night before, the one who'd seemed familiar with Kouken, had burst in, looking positively frantic. But upon seeing Dante at the bar (and the blazing mark on his neck) her shoulders slumped and she let out a broken sigh. She wiped her hair back idly with her left hand and looked up at the bartender with pain. "What do we do now?"

He returned her look and released a broken sigh of his own. "Ain't nothin' we can do, love. 'Cept keep our eyes open and our hands on our holsters."

"Well believe me, Thom, my finger is not leaving that trigger until he's dead."

"You'll 'ave to find 'im first and you know how 'e is. Trickster, that one."

"It'll be too late, no matter how soon I find him. We've already failed."

"We 'ad to fail, y'know that. There was never a chance at us succeedin'. All we 'ad was 'ope the book'd be re-written and now even that's gone."

"No, there's still hope. There has to be." She said quietly as she turned and left as quickly as she came.

Dante looked up at the bartender. "Hope for what?"

"For justice, Dante. Somethin' this town ain't seen for years."

"Right, just. So where do I come into all this?"

"You've always been in it."


End file.
